The surrounding group of terrorists approvingly laughed along like they found the joke hilarious.
The dread I felt from the surroundings only increased as a result. The torture didn't last much longer and shortly after the terrorist cleanly chopped off the man's four limbs, he lopped off his head, raised it up, and presented it to the next man in line. With a mortifying grin, he said, "I hope you're not a fool like him."
Completely despondent, the next man in line gave no response; his eyes, soulless, like he'd lost all hope in humanity. The terrorist handed him the machete while he aimed at the man's head with his gun in the event the man displayed the slightest sign of resistance. However, the man didn't put up any sort of struggle.
He approached the woman and child who'd long lost all hope. Rather than fearful toward the man, they somehow appeared a bit thankful should they die an easy death here. To them, it would at least be a quick death by his hands compared to a gruesome and drawn out one at the hands of the brutal terrorists. They both wept by themselves quietly holding onto each other tightly, but they never begged for their life, likely afraid they'd face a fate comparable to the first man's death.
The second man who saw their reaction didn't hesitate, he cleaved down without hesitation and cleanly cut into their necks. What immediately followed were anguished cries of pain. They hadn't immediately died from the initial strike, but after a short minute passed, they bled out, and their struggles died down. Egged on by the terrorists to continue, the man finished the job, he fully chopped off both of their heads.
When it was finally over, he lost all strength in his arms and legs. He dropped the machete and fell with his back to the cabin's wall between two seats. He looked down at his bloodied hands in horror once the severity of what he'd done sank in. This was his new reality, once you crossed that bloodied bridge drenched by the innocent's blood, there was no turning back.
I didn't have very long to pay attention to his plight as the terrorist smiled and turned toward me next. He picked up the machete then placed it in my hand with a sinister smile and said, "please do put on a good show. You've got quite the beauty to behead there. You're lucky for your kill to be a beautiful and memorable one. It's actually quite a shame I can't take the time to enjoy her for myself."
I looked down at my hands and observed as they trembled uncontrollably. I held onto the machete as firmly as possible with the limited strength I could muster. The handle felt chillingly cold in spite of the still fresh warm blood on it. The woman directly adjacent didn't appear phased in the slightest; instead, she calmly looked me in the eyes unwaveringly. She patiently awaited my choice with no hint nor sign of fear.
How was she so calm in this sort of situation? I cautiously repositioned myself to her rear and stood directly behind her. She hung her head low down in position as if she'd already accepted whatever decision I'd made. I was extremely conflicted about everything that happened.
Was this really the correct decision? Would I really be able to survive by killing her? These questions only birthed further hesitation which was detrimental to my survival. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst, but I suddenly heard words from directly in front of me. My resolve immediately crumbled to pieces.
"Mr. Genovese, do not hesitate."
My eyes shot open in horror as I looked down in front of me and realized the wavy white-haired woman was gone. In her place was a familiar head of black hair. It was… Val...
Why?
...
Why? Why? Why! What was she doing here?
"Stop hesitating, if I am to die here, then so be it. Besides, did you not know, Mr. Genovese? For a person in my former line of business, dying at the hands of someone important to you is a rather romantic way to finish your life."
Any sort of resolution I once had completely shattered to pieces when I understood it had been Val with me the entire time. No, was it really Val? Rather than what I saw before, was this the hallucination? Or was any of this ever a hallucination? This single new piece of information completely flipped the scale inside my head. I was to kill... Val? There was no way I could do it.
But if I didn't, I'd be the one who died. It was among the greatest dilemmas I'd ever faced. Where did Val's previous bravado from before go? I thought she was confident no one could touch her. Then why are things suddenly playing out like this?
"You're taking too long. I'll give you to the count of five. If you don't cut this woman's head off by the time I count to five, I'll just have to make an example out of you like the first fool."
"One."
"Wait! Please give me a bit of time!"
"Two."
Think! Think! Think! Damn it! God fucking damn it!
"Three."
Anything! Anything! Isn't there anything I can do! Why is there nothing I can do to stop this!
"If you don't hurry up and choose; after we kill you, I might need to let my men release some pent up stress on this woman, if you catch my drift. Hahaha. Anyway, where was I? Oh, that's right. Four."
"Mr. Genovese, stop hesitating. Rather than being touched all over by some filthy dogs before I die, I'd much rather my life end early with you as the last man who felt me up all over when I was still alive."
Her voice was tranquil. It was like she wasn't facing death at all, but instead, having an intimate discussion with her lover.
I have no desire to live if I have to live the rest of my life as her murderer, but... if I choose to end my own life without killing her, it would be the same as betraying her. I'd just be taking the easy way out in life yet again. She'd remain here as food for a bunch of ravenous wolves who'd pounce on her the moment I died.
There was nothing fair about the hopeless world I found myself in. Where was that thing people called justice? Where was the superhero who saved you at the last minute in the knick of time? Who was I kidding, there was no such thing as justice to be had for the deceased when murdered in cold blood by fear-mongering terrorists with guns. No matter how much I wished for it, there really were no heroes that would magically show up right on time to save the day.
Why did such madness exist in this world? Why was justice worth jack shit? This was insanity. Irrationalism at its finest. With the situation I was presented, I had no real choice in the matter. It felt like the concept of free will had been completely stripped from me. I could only kill her. There were no other options available.
"Haaaaaaaaaaah." I took in a long deep breath.
"Fi-"
Don't think, just act.
I no longer hesitated when the terrorist was midway through the last count. In a flash, I raised the machete up high and cleaved down with all my might. Rage, helplessness, resentment, hatred, reluctance, a seething fury, all sorts of countless negative emotions were imbued into this single downward swing.
I put in everything ounce of strength I had and ground my teeth together as my eyes opened up wide. I watched carefully as if the world ran in slow motion before my eyes. With my concentration at an all-time peak, I did my utmost to ensure I wasn't off the mark in the slightest. I didn't want to mess up and prolong her death after I witnessed the earlier example.
If she was destined to die, I'd make it as quick and painless as possible. I was about to become a murderer. A murderer. There was no going back. My heart was breaking, it was torn in two opposing directions. Tears threatened to escape as a result of my internal turmoil, but there was no hesitation in my swing, only pure resolve to bring an end to her life as quickly as possible.
The machete landed cleanly on the back of her neck. I watched on with my wide, horror-stricken eyes, as the blade penetrated her flesh and cleaved through the skin and fibers which connected her skull to her spinal cord. The machete, with unreal sharpness, landed precisely in the position required to get a nice clean cut through one end and out the other while avoiding direct contact with any bones.
Blood erupted out from her neck like a geyser and splattered in all directions, both my hands and face were stained by the violent downpour of blood. My once white dress shirt was similarly dyed crimson as several stray droplets soaked in and diffused into the fabric.